


Your Friendly Neighborhood Mr. X

by Vilatus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilatus/pseuds/Vilatus
Summary: A lovely date night with Mr. X.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Mr. X | Tyrant T-00, Mr. X | Tyrant T-00/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Your Friendly Neighborhood Mr. X

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for me by my dear friend who understands I'm mega horny for Mr. X. She won't upload it so now I have to.

You knock on the door to apartment RE 3. Your fist trembles with nerves. This was a bad idea, you think, as you consider making a run for it. You glance over your shoulder into the lamp-lit streets of Raccoon City. Maybe he hadn't heard the knock. If you left now, he might not notice. Maybe--

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Was that your heart beating? No. Footsteps. Inside, coming towards the door. Un-oiled hinges creak menacingling as it swings wide, welcoming you inside like the gaping maw of some wretched beast. A towering figure stands silhouetted against the light from within. It's him. No one else is that big, that powerful. He dominates the space around him. He could crush you with one meaty fist. A shiver goes down your spine. Fear? Or excitement?

You smile up at him. Your hands are sweaty. Would he notice if you wiped them on your pants? He doesn't smile back. You're not sure if he can. Oh God, you shouldn't have come. But if you hadn't... if you hadn't, you know there would have been that 'what if?' in the back of your mind forever. This night could change everything.

He sweeps his towering frame into a gallant bow, and tips his fedora, "M'lady."

Fuck, that was hot.

"Come in," he says, taking a step back to let you enter.

"Thanks," you say, upon entering, "is that chicken I smell?" The door creaks and snaps shut behind you, but the comforting smell of food calms your frantic nerves.

"It's almost done." He says, leading you into a combination kitchen/dining room. "Take a seat."

There's only three chairs at the table, an odd number. Each one is a different size. Small, average, and fucking huge. Instead of playing Goldilocks, you assume the fucking huge one is for Mr. X. The small chair looks uncomfortable, so you choose the average sized chair for yourself. The table has three place settings and a candle centerpiece. You appreciate the thought he's put into the set up, but wonder about the third place setting.

He pulls a steaming tray of food out of what looks to be an Easy-Bake Oven™. Wow, he was fucking huge, a gentleman, and he could cook. A perfect trifecta of attributes.

He turns to you with an oddly defensive look. Was he nervous? Your own nervousness has fizzled away near to nothing. You smile encouragingly.

"I only have dinosaur shapes." He warns you. The tray clatters against the tables as he releases it from his meaty fingers. Chicken nuggets. No, dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.

You think you're in love.

"Perfect." You declare.

He seems to deflate with a sigh of relief. He crosses the room to a mini fridge. When he opens the door, you notice it is stocked with energy drinks and little else. He returns to the table clutching a bottle of ketchup like a weapon. He sets it gingerly on the table and takes a seat.

Why did he choose the little chair? You wonder. That can't be comfortable. His trench coat drapes across the floor, and his shoulders hunch like Quasimodo. Should you say something? You don't want to make him self-conscious. It couldn't be that he's trying to put himself on your level, could it? The height of the chairs puts you nearly eye level with each other. That was... kind of sweet.

His knees reach to his chest, and you realize for the first time that his trench coat isn't covering all of him anymore. His calves are bare and he's wearing... are those jorts?

Fuck, but that's hot. Those big, muscly thighs, incased in nothing but denim? Shit, how are you going to focus on dinner when that's in front of you? You shouldn't be getting so hot and bothered over jorts, but something about that big man in them really does it for you.

Okay. This is fine. Just focus on dinner. Don't look at his crotch. Don't think about his ass. God, does his ass look that good in denim, too? What you wouldn't give to find out.

Dinner is served. Delicious, luke-warm dinosaur nuggies. Everything is going fine. Until the ketchup. Damn the ketchup, but it was to be your downfall.

You squeeze the bottle, gripping it firmly in one hand. It squirts obscenely. A thick red rope of sweet, tangy sauce lands on a particularly thick nugget. You adjust your grip, two hands now. You grasp the bottle firmly and give another squeeze. Unnhhh. Another gob of tasty sauce. You can't help but caress the bottle and give it one more guilty squeeze.

God, the sound it makes as it spurts. "Pffft!" It goes, emptying onto the nuggets. Oh, is that all? Such a big bottle must have more than that? You give it an experimental shake, and then again, rougher this time. Nothing. You jerk it and, there! Another thick strand of gooey red sauce is released.

It doesn't land on your nuggets.

"Oh," Mr. X says, looking down at his ketchup-stained jorts.

"I'm so sorry!" You gasp, "let me help you!" You frantically grab a handful of napkins from the table and set to work scrubbing at the gob of sauce in his lap. Are you panicking? You might be panicking.

You wipe at the stain, but it doesn't do much to help. The ketchup clings to the denim and creates a wet spot. You scrub a little harder, hoping to be more stubborn than the stain. Back and forth, up and down. You grunt a little, putting some effort into it.

Mr. X makes a sound, a bit like a dying elephant. You look up at him, but he won't meet your eyes. Oh. You realize. Oh, yeah your hand is definitely on his crotch. And that's uh, definitely not a snake in his pants. Probably.

"Sorry!" You say again, pulling back as if bitten by a zombie. Oh no, your face is probably as red as the ketchup. You didn't mean to feel him up, really! But damn boy, the size of that thing in his jorts! It must be a monster!

"It's fine," he grumbles, awkwardly rising from his tiny perch, "I should change."

"Do you need help with that?" You blurt, as his crotch reaches eye level. You aren't sure if you're asking about the stained shorts or the raging erection he seems to be sporting. Gads, he could poke an eye out with that thing!

"Yyyyes." He answers slowly.

Oh. Oh you weren't expecting an affirmative. Okay. You could work with this. Spin it in your favor.

"You should take a shower." You say, "you know, to make sure you get all the... the sauce."

"Okay. I'll need help with my back though." He smolders at you. Or glares. You aren't sure with that wrinkly mug of his. Did he ask you to wash his back? There's no way the ketchup got-- ooh, oh.

Oh hell yeah. "I'll wash anywhere you like, big boy." You say, channelling your best hooker smile. You try not to choke on the words and manage to get them out in a voice that sounds like you only smoke a few packs a day. Maybe he'll find that sexy. Hopefully.

You move the party to the bathroom, with only one or two longing glances at the uneaten chicken nuggets. Later, you promise them silently.

Mr. X enters the bathroom first. It's a small space and a tight fit to hold you both. The shower hardly looks big enough for his large, hulking frame. He turns on the water. You close the door. The room immediately begins to fill with steam. The cracked mirror above the sink begins to fog, but you can still make out your reflections. You look so small compared to him. You've never seen a supersoldier quite like him.

He takes off his trench coat and drapes it across the sink. He watches you as he does so. He isn't wearing a shirt. Just big, bulging muscles on display. Is that a tiddy? Two tiddy? They kinda big tiddies tho, damn. How did you end up with a lucky view like this?

His eye twitches. Or was that a wink? Oh, you think, is this a strip tease? Hot.

The boots come off next. Thump. Thump. He then slides the jorts down slowly. It's a little awkward given the limited space. Underneath is a speedo with the Umbrella Corp logo on the front, tented obscenely by the raging hard-on he's sporting.

He stands there for a moment, in just a speedo and fedora. The shower still runs behind him, like a gushing waterfall down to the floor of the shower. That's gotta be a waste of water, you think. The room is hot and sticky with humidity. He turns, maybe to test the water, maybe to enter the shower. You're not sure, because your brain kind of short circuits when you catch a glimpse of that ass. Damn, you think, he's dummy thicc.

He drops the speedo while still turned away from you. You're a little disappointed that you can't see his dick from this angle, but your disappointment is eclipsed by the immediate urge to slap his ass. Damn, if you were a doctor (disclaimer: you're not) you would diagnose that ass with chronic thiccness. You swear for a moment that you can even see his puckered butthole between the cheeks before he turns back around and you're distracted by his fucking gargantuan cock.

Damn. His dick... do be a dick tho. You can't help but admire the sheer girth of him. Are you drooling? You're pretty sure you're drooling. His balls alone must be the size of a pair of only slightly deflated basketballs.

"If you were naked," he says, "you could have a little bit of dick. As a treat." Oh no, he must have noticed you drooling! Or does everyone have the same reaction to that monster cock and balls?

He steps in the shower and gestures with a meaty outstretched hand for you to join him. You've never undressed so fast. No sexy striptease for him. You're ready to get dicked down harder than an ass full of lube!

You notice he's still wearing his fedora when he tips it at you and says, "A crumb of coochie, ma'am? Spare some coochie?"

"Y-yeah." You answer, dumbstruck by his monster dong. You enter the shower. It's a tight fit. His head rises above the showerhead, keeping his fedora nice and dry.

The first time he sets his big meaty hands on your body, you swear you go up in flames. Or maybe that's just the water. It's hot. Like really hot. It might be burning your skin off. You can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's touching you like that, and letting you touch him like that.

He doesn't give you any warning before deadlifting you up like a 350 lbs weight at the benchpress. Lord, the power in this man. He's a beast, you realize. A monster with a monster dong.

The steamy hot water cascades down his body as he steps out of the shower. He leaves a trail of lake-sized puddles along the floor. You feel tiny in his big, bulging arms, with your legs around his waist, straddling his monster dong. You fondle his fedora and realize that without it he would be completely naked.

You have a vague and fleeting thought that something is off. You never touched any shampoo or body wash while in the shower, you think distractedly. Hadn't the plan been to get clean? But more important thoughts drag your mind away, like, is this really happening? This giant of a tyrant is really gonna give you the good dickin down you crave?

He carries you to what appears to be a bedroom, evidenced by the bed that is in the room. He kicks the door closed loudly behind him and you swear you hear the doorframe splinter. You're placed on the bed none too gently, but any objection you have dies on your lips as you glance up to see him holding his cockadoodle in one big, meaty fist.

You watch him closely as he strokes his sexy banana. You wanna squeeze him like that ketchup bottle. You wanna make him squirt his thick, tangy sauce.

"Does your pussy have room for one more?" He asks politely. You aren't sure if your pussy has room for anything as big as what he's got, but you're certainly willing to try!

You moan. "Fuck yes. Choke me with your thighs, daddy!"

"Your pussy pops." He says, licking his chapped grey lips. "Let me just grab a condom, because unprotected sex is not safe or cool."

"How'd you know that?" You ask.

"I learned it in bible school like everybody else, of course."

"Amen." You answer devoutly.

He crosses the room and retrieves a little square package from a wooden dresser. The drawer scrapes obscenely in the tension-filled silence.

"Oh no," he says, and you hear a belated thwack as something falls to the ground, "I've dropped my monster condom that I use for my magnum dong!" He bends over theatrically, and you get a nice glimpse of his beautifully puckered ass hole. Damn, if you weren't a bottom, you'd be peggin that for sure. You would, however, 100% eat that ass any time if he requested it.

He finishes his dramatic rescue of the fallen condom and returns gallantly to your side. He puts the condom on his man meat and rolls it down like a pro. He leans his large body over you and just goes for it. No foreplay, no lube, no nothing. You thought maybe you'd need to psych yourself up for it, but no. You're so ready to get dicked down by his giant noodle. You want his baby glue. His spicy ketchup squirts. His hot sticky cummie-wummies in you and all over, too.

You feel him on top of you and against you. Your skin is slick with the moisture left over from your shower, and he doesn't slide against you so much as stick. It's awkward and it's hot and you think you'll die if he doesn't stick his fuck rocket in you right now and give it a nice blast off.

You feel him there, ready to strike with his anaconda, and your heart seems to skip and pound.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Your heart beats. Knocking against your chest. Knocking against the bedroom door.

Wait. That couldn't be right. Why would the bedroom door be--

With wide, disbelieving eyes, you peer under a large gray forearm and watch as the doorknob turns. The door opens, wobbling on it's splintered frame.

A certain RPD officer stands in the doorway, munching on what appears to be a cold stegasaurus-shaped nuggie. "Gross," he says, shielding his eyes half-heartedly, "put your fucking clothes back on, it's time to play Animal Crossing, bitches."

Mr. X lets out a beleaguered sigh that sounds like a high-speed tornado blowing past your ear. He doesn't show any signs of letting you up, however.

You notice Leon peek between his fingers. Checking out Mr. X's ass, no doubt. There's something very upsetting about this sight, you think. He's wearing his usual getup, although his pants seem to have been replaced by a pair of booty shorts. You narrow your eyes as he casually takes another bite of the leftover chicken nugget. Wait. Oh NO. He didn't.

"Is... is that my fucking chicken nugget? Are you voring my fucking chicken nuggets!?" You gasp. You wriggle frantically underneath the behemoth atop you.

"This?" Leon says, stuffing the rest of the nuggie in his bitchass mouth, "it wash delishesh." He says, "but the keshup bottle wash empty." He swallows like a champ and waves in a mocking manner before leaving in the direction of the combination kitchen/dining room.

"Bitch? Bitch?" You gasp. "Let me up!" You slap at Mr. X's thickly muscled shoulders, wishing for a moment that it was his ass you're slapping instead. But then your rage clouds your mind again and all you can think of is how you're going to get your hands on Leon and wring his scrawny neck!

You rush into the kitchen, butt ass fuckin naked, and search desperately for the chicken nuggets. What you see instead sends a shudder of anger and revulsion through your entire body.

Leon's pet raccoon, Nemesis, is there, crawling across the table and digging through the last crumbs of the dino nuggies. He wears a garbage bag wrapped around him like some obscure form of high fashion. He hisses at you and you wisely stay away despite your anger. You've been bit before. Lucky the little shit didn't have rabies or you woulda shot it dead, you're sure.

A thicc ass encased in a pair of booty shorts that say 'The State' across the back greets you from an open mini fridge. "Dude," Leon complains, "how come you haven't got any cheese sticks in here?"

"You motherfucking chikky stealin THOT!" You yell.

"Suck my toes, bitch girl." He replies, cracking open an energy drink.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, bitch boy?"

"Eat my whole ass."

"I wouldn't eat your ass even if I were a mindless zombie and you were the last person on Earth!"

Mr. X chooses that moment to enter the room, wearing a tight fitting pair of shorts that read, 'Enemy of The State' across the front.

He surveys the scene. "What are your thoughts on threesomes?" He asks, choosing what you decide is the absolute worst possible moment to bring something like that up.

"Fuckass! Go shove your elephant balls down somebody else's throat!" You scream.

"So, Animal Crossing?" Leon chimes in, "Timmy and Tommy are buying turnips for 576 bells on my island."

An awkward silence stretches out, interupted only by Nemesis scavenging his way through dinner's leftovers.

"I'll uh... I'll grab my Switch." You say.

Later, after the Nook gods have been satisfied with another sacrifice of bells, you all sit in relative peace around a cramped living room. You and Mr. X share a loveseat, while Leon sprawls on top of a beanbag, wearing Nemesis like a chonky travel pillow around his neck.

"You wanna hold hands?" Mr. X asks bashfully.

"Yikes, man, I'm not a slut." You reply. "You have to put your minecraft bed next to mine first."

"His minecraft bed is already next to mine, bitch."

**Author's Note:**

> The actual author's notes  
> \----
> 
> End of Fic Bitchass......
> 
> Important author's notes:  
> Leon is BABIE, okay?  
> Nemesis can b ur angle or a twisted fuckin cycle path!!
> 
> Also, food for thought:  
> Would sex with a zombie be considered necrophilia? Discuss.
> 
> My only regrets:  
> 1\. I forgot a kiss scene? How the fuck did I forget to make them smoochie smooch?
> 
> 2\. I shoulda called his dick a colossus schlong at least once.
> 
> 3\. That's it.


End file.
